


glow in our mouths

by kiira



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/kiira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your world is so pretty and glossy, so terrible at hiding how ugly everything is.</p><p>//</p><p>i'm on like episode 5 of season 2 so this is a From There fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	glow in our mouths

There’s something so wonderfully petty, horribly meaningful about every step you take.

You realize one night lying awake in bed that every detail of your high school years is published online for anyone to see, to know that on April 23rd, a fifteen year old Serena Van Der Woodsen was drunk and almost got hit by a taxi (Gossip Girl made some pun on your then kind-of boyfriend’s name), that on December 6th you were spotted making out with someone’s ex-boyfriend’s brother in a bar, that on March 18th there were rumors going around that you had overdosed.)

This is how you’re going to be remembered.

/

The first day of senior year is just as uncomfortable as you expected. The second – not so much.

You never really meant to take Blair’s friends, her ladies-in-waiting, but you did. And it wasn’t really an accident (nothing really is, not here) because these girls follow the prettiest, the strongest, the best.

And that night in the bar, that’s exactly what you made yourself.

It won’t last long (nothing really does) but it will last long enough. And that’s really all that matters.

/

When you were seven, you were queen of the girls who sat under the one tree in your elementary school courtyard, they gathered around you and giggled at your jokes, offered to let you sleep over at your house every weekend, followed you to the nail salon after school and painted their nails the exact same shade of pink as you.

Georgie was there, and Kati, and Is, and Hazel, and a whole stream of girls who all flipped their hair over their shoulders in the same way, all stumbled around words too big for their seven year old mouths, smiled with glossy lips, and you were their loving queen.

Except for Blair.

Blair was special, and you would stay at her house when your parents would scream at each other for hours (sometimes drag Eric along with you and Blair would watch you with her solemn brown eyes as you gave him a blanket and turned on his favorite cartoons and let him fall asleep on the Waldorf’s upstairs living room couch).

You would fall asleep together on her queen-sized canopy, a tangle of limbs and humming summer air.

/

In middle school, Blair smiles prettily and the girls flit over to her because she seems to know what she’s doing.

You, of course, don’t.

It’s easy to pretend, to curl your hair and cut your bangs and lie about boys but: Blair is better at it than you, she can smile and pull someone’s darkest secrets out, can pout her way into anything.

She’s a better liar, and the girls flock to that, to her stories and parties and fashion shows, and with her perfect pretty self, she is infinitely more intriguing than you are.

/

Except, Blair isn’t really perfect.

She’s crying mostly when she tells you, and it’s messy and her voice is shaking around her sobs.

And the main thing is that you haven’t noticed, you never noticed and you feel sick.

So you hug her and kiss her hair and you sob because for the first time in your life, you realize you’re so terribly helpless, so terribly young.

/

It’s mostly because you’re so entwined that you fight so much, it’s because Blair knows exactly will make you murderous and you know what will put that cold, furious look on Blair’s face.

Maybe that’s part of why you take her friends, bat your eyelashes at them just the right way and you watch the way Blair falls so gracefully.

It’s easy – you wish it wasn’t but this all comes so easily to you.

/

Your world is so pretty and glossy, so terrible at hiding how ugly everything is.

/

In European history, you studied Renaissance Italy and laughed because all those historians could do a case study in New York high schools; all the fighting and mercenaries and wealth and wealth and wealth.

You just have the designer handbags.

/

Sometimes you really hate Blair and sometimes she really hates you and most of the time it doesn’t match up. 

You always love her: always, always, always.

/

You take a sip of whatever the man at the end of the bar bought for you, and smile. You can hear Blair talking in the background, with one of the new girls, the hopeful, innocent underclassmen.

It’s your turn to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out @ bettymcraae.tumblr.com


End file.
